


Thin Line

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Bruises, Chains, Consent Issues, F/M, Hurt, Hurt Tony, Non Consensual, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony wakes up in an unpleasant familiar situation--bound, bloody, and at the mercy of his enemies.  One of them who has a prior close connection to him proceeds to take advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thin Line

**Author's Note:**

> Tony and Whitney actually really interest me, especially the fact that he still has feelings for her despite everything that's happened between them, and vice versa. This turned into a way for me to explore that connection.

It was all part of the job—waking up with his cheek pressed against cold metal and the thick taste of blood in his dry mouth and immediately feeling the twinge of strained muscles, bruises, and burns, his hands bound above his head—but no matter how many times it happened, he still had to fight down the instinctive sense of panic as he tugged at his wrists and they only barely shifted, held fast by metal that felt freezing cold against the skin of his wrists.  He blinked his eyes open, eyelashes tugging uncomfortably as they stuck with dried blood before coming free. 

Well, wasn’t that pleasant?  What had happened to him, anyway?  He spared a glance down at himself, and mostly saw a bruised elbow where his shirt and suit jacket had been torn away.  He was out of his armor—he shivered as a breath of cold air twisted down his spine.  Hell, he was halfway out of his  _clothes_.

He dropped his head forward until his forehead was braced against his arm, and tried to breathe evenly, to think and ignore the twinges of pain that sparked through his skull with every breath.  This wasn’t good.  Waking up half naked in chains was never good, anyway, but where had his armor gone, and what had he been doing—

“Tony.”  He knew that voice, half-distorted by metal, but still familiar, well-loved.  Whitney.  “You’re awake, I see.”  He gasped, his head jerking up despite himself, even though he knew it would hurt, tried to stop— 

Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he was aware that he’d made some kind of pathetic, gasping sound but couldn’t even care for a moment.  When he could see again, she was in front of him, and both her hands were on his face, framing it gently, her fingers stroking through his hair, behind his ear.  His chest suddenly felt tight, breath coming harsh and uneven in his throat, torn between the sudden knowledge that she could break his neck by twisting his head in this position and the familiarity of her touch, the gentle way she supported his head, the dark eyes and long eyelashes he could see behind her mask, the old warmth of love for her tangling and twisting in his stomach.  “Whitney,” he panted.

“What have you done to yourself this time, Tony?” she asked, her fingers stroking gently over his cheek, down to rest her thumb over his lips and trace musingly back and forth.  “You’re quite a mess, my love.”

“Mmm,” Tony said.  “You … had something to do with that, if I recall.”  The ache in his chest that was making his breath come so tightly wasn’t just emotion, he realized—he wasn’t sure if his ribs were just badly bruised and cracked or broken, but the pressure from his arms wasn’t doing them any favors.

“You were being stubborn,” Whitney said, and her hand firmed in his hair, twisted painfully before yanking his head back.  Tony gave a grunt of effort before he could stop himself.  “I got rid of your armor so we could talk a bit more intimately,” she said, and ran her hand down the front of his chest.  It  _hurt_.  Tony bit the inside of his cheek and refused to moan.  He looked up at the mask hovering over him and saw his own bruised face wavering in the reflection of the glossy metal, darkened with bruises and puffy around his lips and jaw and cheek.  He winced.  That wasn’t pretty.  No wonder moving his face hurt so badly.  His breath left circles of fog steaming up the frozen, beautiful golden features of the mask, she was so close.

“Doesn’t have to be this way, Whitney,” he said, through the pain, forcing it back, trying to clear his head.  “We can still … I still care for you.  Come back with us … let me down from here and we can talk.  Might even be a place for you on the Avengers.”

“And is there still a place in your  _heart_  for me?” she demanded, casually tearing his shirt even further open, so the buttons popped and skittered away, and then dragging her fingernails down, scratching over the exposed, vulnerable skin of his belly hard enough that Tony had to bite his lip or risk a yelp of pain and flinched away, panting.  The muscles in his arms immediately roared in protest, and he flinched, which made it worse, and that set off a chain reaction of pain through his body until he was left curled in on himself and wheezing.

She pushed his hair back off his forehead.  “Well?” she asked, and cupped his chin in one hand, pulling it up as he panted and tried so very hard not to let any sound escape.  She traced her first finger over his lips now, pushed it between them, and Tony couldn’t help the startled sound he made.  His mouth still tasted of blood, but she traced her fingertip over his teeth, smoothed it over his tongue, before drawing it out of his mouth.

“I’ll always care about you,” he managed after a moment of blinking at her blankly, shivering with surprise.

“I know what a lie sounds like,” she hissed, suddenly ferocious, her hand tightening on his jaw.  “And I despise that you would lie to me, after everything we shared.”

“But I’m not lying,” Tony protested.  He moved forward instinctively, reaching for her, and was stopped by the pull of the chain on his wrists, which left him gasping again.  “I swear I’m not,” he gritted out between painful pants for breath.

“I do not want your pity, or your affection, like that for a puppy or a younger sister or one of the inexperienced heroes you might lead,” she bit out sharply.  “I want your love, all-consuming, passionate, or nothing at all.”  Her fingers tugged at the fastening of his pants, suddenly, ripping them open so that the zipper tore, and then yanked down his underwear, and Tony knew his eyes were suddenly wide, couldn’t help the recoil of his body.

“Whitney, please,” he breathed.  “No.  Don’t do this, not—not like this.”

“Look at that,” she said, low and husky, leaning forward until the cold metal of her mask was pressed against his cheek, her mouth nearly to his ear.  “You’re beginning to get hard for me.  Perhaps your body hasn’t forgotten what we shared as easily as your heart.”  Her fingers closed around his length, and Tony shivered, trembled in unhappy, sick arousal.  He told himself that it was nothing, just a physiological reaction, that he didn’t want this, it was just because he and Whitney had been something to each other once, something real and loving and—her hand dragged upward along his cock and he could feel himself harden as unlooked for, unwanted pleasure traveled through his battered body in a hot, prickling wave.

“Whitney,” he said, and he made his voice as firm and reasonable as he could, under the circumstances.  “Please don’t.  This is … this mocks whatever we once were to each other, please don’t do it like—”

Her hand tightened, squeezing until it was painful, and her thumbnail pressed into the slit of his cock.  He did yelp that time, jerking under her hand.  “And if I let you go,” she said, “would you push me down to my back here and make love to me?  Like we once did?  Like you used to?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and thought about how they had once been with each other, thought about how he felt about this woman, and tried not to feel too nauseous.  “Yes,” he whispered.  “Yes, I’d be happy to—to make love to you, sweetheart.”  He swallowed.  ”Let me show you how I feel.”

“Yes,” she said, and her hand cupped his cheek again.  ”Yes, I think I will.  Prove it to me, Tony.  Please me.”

“All right,” he whispered thickly. “I will.”


End file.
